


From Russia, With Love

by MissMarquin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art Thievery, Art thief, Eventual Smut, F/M, I know that sounds ridiculous, James Bond - Freeform, M/M, Pretty Woman, Pretty Woman/James Bond AU, Romance, Secret Agent, Spies, Spy - Freeform, What's the opposite of slow burn, immediate burn?, it works i promise, special agent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarquin/pseuds/MissMarquin
Summary: It's been over a decade, since the famed art thief Eros has graced the world with his presence.Enter Otabek Altin, an agent of the Foreign Intelligence Service of Kazakhstan, on loan to Interpol and intent on capturing the thief at any cost. Easier said than done though, when he learns he has to trade his fancy gadgets and weapons, for an armani suit and a glass of wine. Despite being one of the best spies in the world, he's about to tackle his hardest mission ever-- being social.Thankfully, there's someone who can help... who happens to be a hooker that he picks up by accident one night?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangryuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was watching Pretty Woman, and I was like, "Huh, this would make a great Otayuri AU." And then I saw an ad for James Bond and I was like, "Crazy fucking idea... let's combine the two."
> 
> I know it sounds wild. I threw the idea at theangryuniverse though, and she kind of loved it, so here you are-- The Pretty Woman/James Bond AU that no one would have ever even considered. 
> 
> Josie, this one's for you.

_**Prologue** _

* * *

 

 

“You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack--”

“Don’t say that,” the first voice snapped harshly. “I _hate_ it when you say that.” There was a pause and then, “You can’t, I won’t let you. You’re _retired_.” The word was stressed, like it had been said only a thousand times before.

The thief known as _Eros_ laughed. “ _Darling_ ,” he whispered, leaning closer to his partner, “there’s no such thing as retired. It’s merely a… _sabbatical_ , and it always has been.”

“ _Y_ _ou promised me_ \-- the moment that we decided to do this, to settle down and _raise a family--_ ”

“And settled with a family we _are_. I’ve held true on my promise.”

“The answer is still _no_ ,” his partner said, his voice full of resolve.

“You haven’t even asked _what_ it is that has caught my attention.” It’d been over a decade since his last heist.

“I don’t need too.” There was a huff, like a stiff sigh. “You’ve never needed a reason, you just took whatever you liked, because you _could_.”

And it was true, he never truly had a rhyme or reason to what he stole-- he just liked the best of the best, and to flaunt his unwavering skill. Years of taunting the police had been the best game of his life-- until falling in love, that was.

The thief leaned over, his lips brushing against the other man’s cheek. “It’s one of mine, actually,” he said, and his partner froze. “One of the ones I painted of you--”

“ _Which_ one?”

“Your favorite, of course. Why else would I bother?”

Why else indeed. His partner hesitated for a moment and then said, “What do we tell--”

“The truth,” _Eros_ muttered, pressing his lips against skin. “That her father is away on work. She’s _seven_ , she won’t question it one bit.”

More hesitation, this time caused by the distraction of gentle kisses. “You’ll be careful,” his partner muttered. It wasn’t a question, but rather a demand.

“Of course,” the thief chuckled.

“You won’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try not to.” _Eros_ had the gall to sound almost insulted.

“And you’ll come home to me.”

“ _Always_.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most would call this entire story PWP, but it has a plot, so that can't be it. SO, instead, it is SMUT WITH PLOT, and you'll deal with it. That being said, it's been a DECADE since I last wrote smut, so... I'm sorry if it sucks. LOL. 
> 
> I've decided that I want to have a soundtrack along with this story, so here are the songs that I associate with this chapter:
> 
> Secret Agent Man, Johnny Rivers  
> Searchin', The Coasters

**_One_ **

* * *

  


Otabek hated wearing suits.

Spy movies made them seem glorious. Men with dazzling smiles and martinis in hand, wooing women by the armfull, because of a double-breasted jacket and a neatly folded pocket square. The reality of it though, was that they were stiff and too formal, and _very_ difficult to move around in. If something went wrong, if he _needed_ to do something a little off-the-books, it’d be twice as hard, because he’d have half the range of motion.

“Stop looking like you swallowed sour milk,” Seung-gil hissed next to him.

Otabek frowned, pulling at his collar. “You _know_ that I hate formal wear.”

“It’s a black tie event, what on earth did you expect? Now stop fidgeting and get back to doing your damn job.”

Otabek only grunted in reply, but pulled his hand away from his neck. Normally he flew solo on missions like this, and being babysat by his boss wasn’t his favorite thing in the entire world.

“We’re certain that we might find some info here?” Otabek asked him, leaning towards the man slightly. Seung-gil was about his height, but less broad. The people them weren’t paying much attention though, to his relief. The entire point was to seem _unremarkable_.

Seung-gil hummed in response. “Mr. Giacometti might not be the biggest name in the art world there is, but he has contacts with dozens of museums around. If _Eros_ is sniffing out marks again, it might be here.”

 _Eros_ , fine art thief extraordinaire. His father had gone nearly mad trying to catch the guy, and it seemed that Otabek had taken up the family business. After several years of untraceable heists and flaunting his skills in front of Interpol, he had just _disappeared_ from the face of the earth.

Until last month, the first time his name had been uttered in the art world in over a decade.

“And Maya double-checked everything?”

“How the hell should I know?” Seung-gil nearly snapped. “You expect me to converse with that _hag_?”

“That hag is your fucking _wife_ ,” Otabek drawled out, before rolling his eyes. “She’s also my sister, so you better shut your mouth before I kick your ass.” Seung-gil crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he pulled back his jacket sleeve to check his watch.

“If we don’t get anything by ten o’clock, we’ll leave.”

At that, Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Are you in a hurry?”

“No, but I do have a date that I have to at least _try_ to keep.” Seung-gil pulled his sleeve back down proper. “You take the left side and mingle, I’ll head to the right. We’ll meet back up before we head out, okay?”

Otabek nodded, ducking towards the edge of the room, turning on the charm and schmoozing every fat wallet that he could find. He might have not been in the field like he preferred, but he knew how to fool others when it counted. That’s the thing about being a spy-- you had to be good at pretending.

But he could only pretend to like parties for so long.

Eventually, it neared ten at night, and Otabek hadn’t found a lick of pertinent info. Worst of all, he couldn’t find Seung-gil either, meaning that the man had likely ditched him and snuck back home. Otabek sighed. He loved Maya more than anything because she was his sister, but God above, it was aggravating to have your brother-in-law as your case agent.

He ended up leaving the party in a mood so sour, that he just hopped on his bike and _went_. He didn’t pay attention, and then when he finally started too, he realized that he was utterly lost. He’d spent nearly a month in Los Angeles, but this part of town wasn’t familiar to him.

And judging by the decay of the street and the _colorful_ people that walked the curb, it wasn’t a place that he wanted to stay in. He pulled to a side street and whisked his phone out of his jacket. The signal was spotty, and he was trying to get the GPS to pull up and--

He paused, turning his head towards the back of the alley, his ears straining. Was that a shout? And then he heard it again, a male voice shouting obscenities, before something thudded into something metal and hollow.

Otabek kicked the stand on his bike up, coasting to the edge of the alley slowly. The was someone huddled into a lump on the ground, and even with his bad eyesight, Otabek could see a distinct _lack_ of clothes. Black hair fell in a curtain around a feminine face, though the rest of her was obscured by her arms. The man above the woman was yelling and thrashing around, kicking at bottles that littered the ground.

Otabek revved the engine on his bike and the man startled, looking up frantically. “Are you so pathetic that you have to beat up on a woman?” he snapped, his tone threatening. 

“Mind your own shit,” the man yelled back. Judging by the way he swayed, he was absolutely plastered.

Otabek was unimpressed and about to do something, when the woman on the ground took the opportunity to jump up and punch the man straight across the face. An audible crack was heard, and he swaggered back, screeching as blood streamed from his face, before slumping to the ground.

Otabek raised his eyebrows at the impressive knock-out, as the woman move to right her clothing. Brushing her hair back, and turning towards him and--

 _That was definitely not a woman_.

That was absolutely a man, now that Otabek had a proper look-- and a _very good looking one_ . Tall and wispy, but not too thin, _legs up to here_. His face was less feminine that he had initially thought, a hint of a square jawline there, but his face would definitely be considered beautiful, more than handsome.

Combined with the tight gold crop-top that showed off his slim waist and glittering pink booty shorts that accentuated the curve of his butt, Otabek knew instantly that this was a hooker.

“Are you okay?” Otabek finally called out, finding his voice.

The man in question looked up, straightening his jacket in a huff. He stalked over to Otabek on his bike, doing a once-over as his eyes went from his head to his feet. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly amused. “Most don’t ride bikes while wearing a tuxedo.” His voice held a gentle accent that reminded him of home.

“Most don’t ride bikes,” Otabek replied flatly.

The man had the gall to lean against his bike, letting Otabek get a better look at his face-- and holy fuck he was a gorgeous creature. High cheekbones, bright blue eyes lined with kohl and glossed  lips curved into an amused smirk. “Most people are careful with what they ride,” the hooker said, running his finger down the side of the motorcycle. And then across Otabek’s knee, where it stopped. He swallowed thickly. “That’s what that man was angry about. I wouldn’t give him what he wanted. _I have standards_.”

Otabek wouldn’t have either, had he been in such a position.

“But you know,” the man continued with, playing with Otabek’s pant leg idly, “You’re quite handsome.” It was like ice had been dumped over him. Otabek’s gaze snapped up to meet the other man’s, who was looking back triumphantly. “I’d even be willing to give a small discount, for you know--” he paused, motioning to the man slumped on the ground. “You distracted him long enough for me to get a swing in.”

Otabek had never hired a hooker, he had never _wanted_ to hire a hooker, he had no idea how to go about--

“So what do you say?” The man reached forward, his fingers brushing along his along his shirt at the collarbone, before moving to adjust his suit lapel. “What do you want?”

Otabek panicked. He panicked and blurted, “ _Directions_.”

To his credit, the hooker didn’t freak out. He laughed. “Oh darling, is this your first time doing this?”

“There is no _this_ ,” Otabek said, finally remembering how to properly speak.

“Hmmm,” the other man hummed, “But there _could_ be. It’s a limited time offer, and I’ll have you know that I’m normally _very_ expensive.” Otabek didn’t doubt it. “Otherwise, why on earth would you be browsing this block?”

“I told you that I needed directions. I’m lost.” He moved to bat the hooker’s hands away, but the man slipped out of his grip.

“I’ll give you those directions for the right price.”

“And what would that price be?”

He finally pulled away, tapping his finger against his chin thought. “Two hundred and I’ll escort you personally.”

For some reason, Otabek would have thought it’d be way more, because aside from his skimpy attire, he didn’t have the typical _look_ of a prostitute. He checked his phone again, only to find that it still had no signal. Finally, he fished out his wallet and pulled out a wad of twenties.

Working for interpol had its upside-- they literally tossed him money that he never used. He counted out two hundred, before handing it over. The man double-checked it carefully, before tucking it into his boot. “So uh… _where to?”_

“The Peninsula,” Otabek replied easily, motioning to the compartment on the back of the bike. “There’s a spare helmet in there. Put it on.”

“ _The Peninsula_ ,” the other man responded, gaping slightly. That caused Otabek to raise a brow. Had he been wrong in assuming he was a _high-class_ escort? Or had the man just _acted_ like it? Either way, it wasn’t like he had picked the swankiest hotel in the city to lodge at-- his team had.

“And now you know _why I’m lost_ ,” he said again, before shifting in his seat slightly. He motioned for the man to sit down.

The hooker hesitated and then said, “I’m adjusting my rate. Staying at a place like that means you can afford another hundred.”

Otabek scowled, but dug out his wallet nonetheless. The money wasn’t his and he wouldn’t miss it. After counting out an additional hundred, the hooker tucked it away. “What’s your name?” he asked, finally looking up again.

“Otabek.”

“ _Otabek_. What is that, French?”

Judging by the accent, the hooker knew that it wasn’t. “Does it matter?” Otabek asked coolly.

The other man paused, a sad smile crossing his face. “It never does.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, his lips quirked into a smirk and Otabek would bet that this man was _quite_ pleased with himself.

He slid onto the bike behind Otabek, wrapping his arms around his waist. Otabek reminded himself to _breathe_. It’d been a long time since anyone had been remotely intimate with him and he tried to ignore the subtle weight that now rested against his back. The hooker had other ideas though, leaning forward to whisper against his ear. “Oh by the way,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky purr, “My name is Yuri. Head for the light, and then turn left.”

Otabek was so distracted by the man pressed against him, by the low hum of his words, his breath against his neck, that he didn’t comprehend his words at first. “ _What_.”

Yuri let out an amused huff, and Otabek could just _see_ the smirk that graced his lips. “ _The Peninsula_ ,” the hooker said, “Unless you’ve forgotten where you are staying.” Otabek didn’t answer, and Yuri dragged a finger down his arm. “It’s okay, people forget a lot of things when they’re with me.”

Otabek could believe it, he definitely could believe it. “Hold on tight,” he finally said, moving to kick up the stand that his bike rested on. Yuri complied, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and pressing his cheek against his back. The warmth was nearly unbearable and Otabek let out a long sigh, before revving the engine and setting off.

 

* * *

 

Mila had warned him about strange men.

Or more specifically, _‘Strange men with tons of money_ ’.

 _It’s not worth it,_ she had told him once. _Old men with money come with their perversions. Best stay away from them_.

It might seem like strange advice for a hooker, but Yuri hadn’t been lying when he claimed to have standards. He was very picky when it came to his clientele and he’d seen other workers disappear from the streets without a word. Police didn’t give a shit, and other workers barely did, so when Mila had taken him under her wing and showed him the ropes, he’d learned to take her advice to heart.

Otabek seemed different though. Otabek was young and gorgeous, and an absolute hero. The moment he had seen that crisp undercut and those dark eyes, all those standards went right out the fucking window. It wasn’t that Yuri couldn’t take care of himself, but the drunkard had been handsy, and difficult to overpower. And then came his knight-in-shining-tuxedo, revving his engine and ready to come to the rescue.  
  
It had been plenty of distraction to knock the drunkard straight onto his ass.

Yuri knew an armani suit when he saw one. And he knew a vintage bike as well, and the amount of upkeep that they required. Judging by the man’s clean-cut appearance and pristine bike, Yuri figured he’d hit the jackpot.

He never gave freebies. He never even gave discounts, so the man should have considered himself lucky with such an offer. But _Otabek’s_ face had tugged into an embarrassed frown at the idea, instead asking for directions.

 _To the fucking Peninsula_.

It was kind of cute, if you liked hot, rich men looking embarrassed as hell and out of their element.

Which was how he wound up on the back of a vintage motorbike, pressed against Otabek more intimately then he bothered to get with most of his customers. It was strange, how different it was, when desire was actually involved.

It had been a long time since Yuri had seen a man so handsome, he’d been knocked nearly speechless. Thankfully, he’d remembered his smart mouth, whispering directions into the man’s ear as they veered through the streets. So maybe he had taken him the long way, it wasn’t like Otabek would have known.

When they pulled under the portico of the hotel, Otabek dropped the kickstand and killed the engine. Yuri hopped off, ignoring the side-eyed glances of bell-boys and valet attendants. And to his surprise, Otabek didn’t seem to care.

Most would have been concerned about being seen with him, hence conducting his business in back alleys and side streets.

Yuri didn’t often feel out of place, but he was definitely of the wrong breed here, and it showed. Luckily for him, he boasted a cheeky personality and made quick work of their discomfort. An older couple passed by, the wife’s face twisted in disgust. Yuri responded by sticking his ass out in a way he found flattering, and throwing a seductive smile towards her husband.

And honestly, the woman should have been more angry at her man’s wandering eyes and smile of appreciate, instead of Yuri’s obvious promiscuity.

Otabek had rounded the bike, fishing out his wallet once more, but Yuri reached out to stop him. “You’ve already paid.” He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He wasn’t one to say no to tips, or extra.

Otabek paused, thinking about his words, and then asked, “How will you get back?”

“To _what?_ My corner?” Yuri laughed lightly. “Babe, I can turn tricks just about anywhere.” He paused and looked around them, taking in the luxury of the hotel and the rest of the street. “Honestly, I might actually make my fucking rent for once, if I stroll this block.”

And then he saw it, a little crinkle that feel across Otabek’s features. Yuri was good at reading people, and he had realized that this was the man’s _thinking_ face. And then he saw his lips moving and realized that he had asked him a question.

“I’m sorry?” Yuri asked, tuning in once more.

“I asked, _how much for the rest of the night_?”

At first, Yuri thought he was joking, but Otabek didn’t seem the type to make light of anything. His face while gorgeous, was stern and severe. The man probably never smiled. Otabek must have sensed his apprehension, because then he said, “It’s late, and there’s no point in waiting for a cab… or you know.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Picking up someone else. I’ll pay for the rest of the night.”

Yuri didn’t do all nighters, _never_ . He was a one-and-done kind of hooker, shimmying pants down in the alleyway, pressed up against brick walls for a quickie. Not the _rich man taking you to swanky hotel and spend the whole night in debauchery_ kind-of-guy.

Those warning bells rang in his head, as he remembered Mila’s words about rich guys not being worth it.

Otabek waited quietly though, not pressuring him, and Yuri had the feeling that this man wasn’t part of the standard. So, he blurted the most ridiculous number that he could think off. “Twelve-hundred.”

Yuri waited for Otabek to decline. Instead, he said, “Do you like checks? Or would you prefer cash?” He thumbed through his bills as he counted them.

 _Checks are unreliable_ , he remembered. _And take your money upfront_.

“Cash,” he said quietly, causing Otabek to nod. He watched as he folded the crisp bills neatly, before holding them out.

Yuri hesitated, which was odd. Usually, he knew exactly what he wanted-- not this John, but that one instead. And it wasn’t that he feared Otabek was one of those weird crazy types that Mila had warned him about, what worried him was that he wasn’t.

Otabek seemed _normal_ , and Yuri just didn’t know how to work with that.

But he took the money, his fingers weeping over Otabek’s gently.

A valet came up and took the keys, paling slightly when Otabek kindly reminded him what would happen if he found anything as much as a _scratch_ on his bike. Once the boy had driven off, Otabek turned back to Yuri, and then it was his moment to hesitate.

And then he held out his arm, waiting for Yuri to take it.

He felt self-conscious. Here was this god of a man, standing in a suit that cost more than his yearly rent. And what was he wearing? _A gold crop top, sparkly pink shorts and a shit-tier wig that snagged on everything_.

Otabek waited patiently, and that’s what killed Yuri, his _unwavering patience_.

There wasn’t ever room for patience in his line of work. People didn’t take things slow; they wanted it quick and rough, because he was just another fuck to forget in the end all of things.

“It’s alright,” Otabek finally said. “I won’t let them say anything.”

His words immediately calmed him and he felt _safe_. Yuri couldn’t remember that last time he felt like that. And so, he slipped his arm into Otabek’s, and they walked into the lobby together.

 

* * *

 

Otabek had made a mistake and he had no idea what to do about it.

He hadn’t _meant_ to hire the fucking hooker, but his brain had other ideas. And really, it came from a place of concern more than anything. Who knew what kind of clients roamed these carefully manicured hotels, with their perfectly kept roads? At least with Otabek, Yuri would be safe.

Even if he probably thought that Otabek was intending something else. When he wasn’t. When he _absolutely_ wasn’t. Even if the gentle touch of Yuri’s arm through his own, caused his heart to beat just a _little_ bit faster.

No, he would behave and that money that Interpol alots him will _finally_ be put to good use. He frowned at that for a moment. _Was_ this a good use? He chanced a look at Yuri, who was too busy smiling sarcastically at a disapproving woman.

Well, it wasn’t like _he_ was using the money. Interpol paid for his lodging and food in addition, so there was no need for it. He led Yuri towards the elevator and away from prying eyes. And though Yuri didn’t say anything, he looked over and winked at Otabek, his lips curling like there was a secret that only he knew.

Otabek decided that his smile was dangerous and that he should definitely stop looking at it.

The elevator ride was fairly quiet. Yuri leaned against the wall casually, having let go of him the moment that the doors had closed. And when they opened back up, he trailed alongside silently, gaping at the opulent decorations of the hotel hallway.

“Penthouse, huh?” Yuri finally said, realizing it was the _only_ room up there _._

Otabek only grunted in reply, shoving the key in the door and trying to get it open. The magnetic strip was failing however, and this was already the _third_ one Otabek had gotten from the front desk and--

Yuri plucked it from his hands and dragged it across his chest _very_ slowly. With intent. And Otabek swallowed thickly, just _watching_ awkwardly.

“My grandfather once told me that rubbing it on something, sometimes fixes it.”

They both knew that it was absolute bullshit, and that Yuri had absolutely taken advantage of the moment to try and seduce him, but Otabek refused to fall for it. He took the key back and shoved it in the lock-- only to have it immediately work. Yuri grinned widely, before pushing past him and into the suite.

And then stopping dead to lookin around, his mouth agape once more. Otabek understood. Otabek had wanted a _small_ room and a less expensive hotel, but he had an image to uphold. Apparently the penthouse had been a must.

“What do you even _do_ with all this room?” Yuri asked, dropping his small bag to the floor.

“Nothing,” Otabek said tiredly, before dropping into the armchair by the desk. He rubbed at his face, before catching the look that Yuri gave him. “Seriously, nothing,” he repeated. “I work too much to enjoy any spare time.”

Yuri raised his eyebrows at that, dropping to the chair opposite him. “And what is it that you do?”

“I’m a art dealer,” came the rehearsed reply. Otabek still hated the way that it sounded. It made him sound like a pretentious git. Yuri must have thought the same, because he made a face.

And then he shifted slightly in his seat, before reaching into a pocket in his-- _those shorts managed to have pockets_? He produced several colorful objects, and the moment that Otabek realized what they were, he turned bright red.

“So I’ve got red, blue, green, and even plain old boring,” Yuri said. “Some are lubricated, others are ribbed. Just let me know which one you’d prefer and we can get this--”

“No _,_ ” Otabek immediately said. “I uh… What I mean to say is--”

“Then you’ve wasted your money, because I _don’t_ do shit without wrapping it up.”

“ _No!_ ” Otabek said again, flustered, and God above, this wasn’t panning out like he thought it would. “I didn’t hired you to _sleep_ with you.” Yuri’s eyes narrowed and he became apprehensive, and Otabek knew that he had to explain quickly. “I thought we could just… talk.”

“ _Talk_ ,” Yuri repeated, like he didn’t quite believe him.

“Yes, you know, where you chat and get to know someone better?”

“What, you can’t get it up without some sort of emotional connection?” Yuri paused, considering it. “Okay, that’s not the _weirdest_ thing I’ve ever been asked--”

“ _I have no intention on sleeping with you_ ,” Otabek finally said quickly.  Yuri immediately paused, not quite sure what to think about that, prompting Otabek to continue. “You were talking about picking up another client, and I just thought that was a _stupid_ idea, so I offered too you know… I just don’t have any intention on--”

Yuri burst out laughing, causing Otabek to frown. Finally, the other man said something, wiping at the small tears that collected at his eyes. “So what you’re telling me, is that you paid twelve hundred dollars… because you were worried I might run off with another man.”

“Rich people are weird,” Otabek muttered.

Yuri cocked his head to the side. “Pot, meet kettle,” he said. “You’re pretty fucking weird yourself.” But he pocketed the condoms and set his hands back into his lap. “But that’s not such a bad thing, I guess. What’s next?”

“Are you hungry?” Otabek asked.

“I could eat,” Yuri said, before grinning. “Wait, can we get room service?”

The grin was a stupid, child-like thing, but Otabek liked it. He didn’t smile in return, but there was a slight upturn to his lips when he replied with, “You can order whatever you want.”

 

* * *

 

Ordering whatever he wanted turned out to be way more than Otabek anticipated. Yuri was tall and lithe. He wasn’t sickly thin, but he was tiny in a very athletic kind of way, and Otabek had assumed that perhaps he just didn’t eat very much.

He was quickly proven wrong, as he watched the man down an entire plate of steak and potatoes, a bowl of chips and then an entire slice of chocolate cake. And then a handful of chocolates only thirty minutes later. And while he had eaten, they _had_ talked.

Otabek had learned that was older than he had thought-- nearly twenty-five. Yuri had been equally surprised to find out that he was only twenty-seven, because he had the look of _an old man_ , apparently. He wasn’t sure how to take that.

He’d learned that Yuri was, in fact Russian-- which is what he had thought from the accent-- and that he had immigrated to the United States in his teens. The man was delighted to learn the Otabek was decently fluent in it, being from Kazakhstan.

They had finished their food and wound up lounging in the living area. Otabek laid across the couch, his feet propped up on the ottoman. Yuri was sprawled across the floor on his stomach, his long legs stretched out behind him. An old black and white movie played on the television, and they both were only half watching.

“Why turn tricks?” Otabek finally found him asking, a question that had tugged at him the entire night. He immediately regretted it, once he saw Yuri’s face fall. “If that’s a question that--”

“No,” Yuri said, pulling himself into a seated position, “it’s okay.” Then he paused. “It’s just not a question that many people ask me, I suppose. There’s no real reason, I just do. My friend is a hooker, and so I tried it. I don’t hate it.”

But there was something in his tone, and Otabek replied with, “I find that hard to believe.”

Yuri bit his lip slightly as he thought, and then said, “There are two sides to it, you know. It’s fun to be your own boss and do your own thing. I can pay my bills because I know how to work myself, and that in a way it’s kind of empowering. My life isn’t boring, I _do_ things.

“But it’s not all sunshine and rainbows either,” he confessed. “For every decent john, there’s four of them who aren’t. We aren’t people to them, we’re just tools to throw a few bucks at.”

They sat there quietly for a long moment, watching the television with minimal interest. Finally, Otabek said quietly, “You more than a tool. You’re a _person_. You’re worth everything and more.”

He wasn’t sure why he said it, why he felt the need to reinforce it. Yuri regarded him carefully, before leaning forward slightly, pressing his fingers into the carpets. “You’re one of the good ones,” he replied with. “You’re weird, but you’re _good_.”

Otabek wasn’t good. He had hurt people, maimed people, _killed_ people, in his line of work, but he couldn’t tell him that. To Yuri, he was just an eccentric art dealer, and he _couldn’t_ risk breaking that cover.

Yuri crawled over to him, moving to pressing his fingertips lightly against his knee. He hadn’t bothered to take off more than his suit jacket, but even through the thick fabric, the touch burned. Otabek should stop this, he should say something--

But one look at Yuri’s face, his lips twisted into a secretive smile as his fingers danced along his leg higher and higher… They stopped dead mid thigh, before squeezing it gently.

“Yuri, I--”

“Didn’t intend on sleeping with me,” he said, echoing his words from before. “I remember quite clearly.”

His fingers ghosted higher, across the waistband of his pants, dipping into the hemline _just slightly_ , and suddenly they felt too tight, and the room was too hot, and Otabek needed to get some air and--

Yuri’s fingers were gone almost immediately, pressing against his collarbone, following upwards until he reached his tie. He pulled at it expertly, unknotting the article with practiced ease.

“Yuri,” Otabek started again, but his voice broke slightly, causing a low chuckle from the other man. “I--”

“I _know._ ” Yuri pulled the tie from his neck, folding it gently before tossing it on the side table. He grabbed a pillow and set it under his knees, because even though the floor was carpeted, it wasn’t particularly comfortable. Then he undid the first two buttons of Otabek’s shirt, before his hands roamed south once more.

Otabek was in trouble, he was in _serious_ trouble. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had gotten laid, least of all with a _man_. Otabek was inclined to both sexes, but Yuri was on another level, with his feminine face and delicate cheekbones.

There was literally no way he could say no, Otabek had finally realized. So he said, “I don’t normally do this.”

Yuri paused, looking up at him with amusement. “What, hire a hooker? I figured that out pretty quick.”

Otabek knew that he was being teased, and was about to retort, but the words came out as a garbled mess as Yuri’s hand brushed over the front of his pants. And then his fingers caught hold of zipper and paused, Yuri looking back up at him.

“I’m not doing this because you paid me,” he said quietly. “I’m doing this because I _want_ to.”

That’s when Otabek saw it, that slightly dazed look on his face. “It’s been awhile,” he finally blurted, as he felt the zipper get pulled down. Yuri didn’t pause this time, but still laughed.

“It happens,” he said simply.

“When I say a while, I mean, a _while_.” What he meant was fucking years.

Yuri stopped again, looking at Otabek seriously. “If you want to stop, then say so.”

Otabek didn’t want to stop one bit. He tried to, but he couldn’t, and God above help him, because Yuri was dipping his fingers into his pants, and Otabek lifted his hips slightly to help slide them down. That was the exact opposite of saying no.

“You seemed like a briefs kind of guy,” Yuri said with humor.

Otabek started to laugh because he wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but boxers, but it turned into a strangled moan as Yuri leaned forward and nuzzled this hardened cock with his face, and _God above_ \--

It took everything he had not to lose it right then and there. The touch practically burned, even through the fabric, and a rather large part of him was quite embarrassed.

Yuri wasn’t, who regarded him carefully with hazy eyes and flushed cheeks, like he was just as excited as he was. And then he slipped his hand into his boxers, cupping him gently.

Otabek knew that he was done, he was officially past the point of no return. Yuri gripped him loosely, running his fingers carefully down his length, almost lazily. And then his hand was gone, leaving behind a hot and burning need.

“Otabek,” Yuri said softly.

“Yuri, I--” He was like a broken record, unable to articulate proper words.

“I don’t kiss,” he interrupted. “It’s too personal, too intimate.” Otabek wasn’t too sure what was more personal than stroking someone’s dick, but the _lack_ of kissing didn’t really bother him at the moment. Yuri ran a finger down the tented fabric of his boxers once more and continued with, “But I will handle this, if you’d like.” A pause, as he slipped his fingers into the waistband. “I definitely want to.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Otabek finally said, canting his hips slightly so Yuri could slide his boxers down too, and the next thing he knew they were on the floor in a pile, along with his pants. Yuri stared. And stared, and Otabek started to feel like this was a mistake until--

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuri whispered, reaching forward to wrap his fingers around him again. “I _absolutely_ want to.”

It wasn’t that Otabek wasn’t confident about himself, but he wasn’t used to his cock being seemingly revered, and it twitched slightly in response to the praise. Yuri slid his fingers over it, pressing a little bit harder, and Otabek groaned, trying not to buck into his hand.

Because he knew that this wouldn’t last long, no matter what he tried.

And then wet heat enveloped the tip, and Otabek nearly choked, because when he looked down he saw Yuri’s lips wrapped around the head, licking around the crown. Otabek groaned, throwing his head back and reaching down to slide his fingers into the man’s dark hair… but his locks gave way, slipping down the side of his face. Yuri hummed around him in amusement, the vibration of it _incredible_ , before reaching up and batting away the wig that he had been wearing. It fell to the ground, forgotten.

Yuri’s pale blonde hair was braided and coiled around his head, strands falling down and framing his face just slightly, and Otabek moaned at the sight because he was _perfect._ He reached down to thread his fingers through Yuri’s hair again, the tresses silky against his callouses fingers.

Yuri’s mouth dipped down his length, and Otabek’s fingers tightened, pulling slightly at his hair. The other man didn’t seem to notice, reaching up with his free hand to handle the base, twisting slightly as he pulled back. The pace was slow and deliberate, and it was everything that Otabek needed.

Yuri slid down his length faster the next time, and then the next, and Otabek’s toes curled slightly at the sensation. The room was too hot, Yuri’s mouth was too hot, _everything was too hot_ , and if he didn’t cool down, surely he would combust. Yuri’s fingers, tight around his cock, pulling at what his mouth didn’t cover, the wet heat of his lips, and everything in between-- Otabek wanted _more_ , bucking upwards slightly.

Yuri adjusted his position to allow for it, something that wasn’t expected. “Yuri,” Otabek breathed, brushing back a strand of hair that had escaped a pin. The other man was focused on his task, flushed red and grinding his hips against the pillow that he had been kneeling on previously--

The sight was too much, and Otabek crested over the edge, squeezing his eyes shut as he came with a moan. And Yuri swallowed it all with a groan of his own, he fucking _swallowed_ , cleaning every last drop up, not letting it go to waste.

If it wasn’t the fucking _sexiest_ thing he had ever seen, then Otabek didn’t know what was.

They were both panting, when Yuri finally leaned back, running a finger down his length one last time before sitting back on his legs. Otabek was spent, and he hadn’t done a fucking thing, he had just laid back and--

“Yuri,” he said, “I can--”

“Oh I’m fine, I _assure_ you,” the other man said, before standing, and Otabek realized the wet patch across the front of his-- _Heaven above, he came in his pants, grinding against that pillow as he sucked him off._

Otabek had died and gone to heaven. He was still breathing heavy, leaning back against the couch, sweat on his brow. He didn’t do shit like this, _he never_ did shit like this, but he found that he didn’t care one bit.

Yuri stuck his head back out into the living room, “Hey, are you going to sleep on that couch? Or are you going to come to bed?”

He said it so casually, like they had known each other for years. Otabek cracked open an eye and found Yuri waiting for an answer patiently. With a groan he hoisted himself up, and when he stepped into the bedroom, he stopped dead.

Yuri was wearing one of his t-shirts, a plain gray one. He had a stockier build, but Yuri was taller, so despite being a bigger size, it only reached the the top of his pale thighs and-- Otabek swallowed thickly, but Yuri didn’t seem to notice, too busy pulling his hair out from its braid. That must have been how he hid it under the wig.

Otabek was too tired to think about anything else, so he changed into pajamas silently and tossed himself into the bed. Yuri finished with his hair, having re-braided it into a loose one that fell down his back. Otabek wanted to run his fingers through it, to see how long it really was. It looked like spun gold, in the dim light of the room.

Yuri slid into the sheets beside him and Otabek immediately rolled over, throwing an arm around his waist. The other man didn’t protest, sighing as he pressed back.

“Thank you,” Otabek said quietly. He wasn’t sure it was the right thing to say.

But Yuri only hummed happily in response, replying tiredly with, “My pleasure.” It sounded genuine, not the rehearsed words of a man who had sex for money.

And Otabek smiled, even if he couldn’t see it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all had as much fun as I did.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the long-awaited update! I work two jobs and have general poor health that I'm dealing with, along with other fanfictions! Thank you for being patient with me!

_**Two** _

* * *

 

Yuri groaned, stretching in the large bed. The mattress was soft, the blankets incredibly plush, and he burrowed himself deeper into the warmth. He buried his cheek into the pillow, which smelled like sandalwood and musk and--

 _Otabek_.

At the thought of the man, his eyes snapped open, remembering what had happened the night before. But the man in question wasn’t anywhere to be found, leaving behind a rumpled portion of sheets that had been thrown off.

Yuri couldn’t remember the last time that he had given a freebie. Hell, he couldn’t tell you the last time he had sex _just to have sex_. Because that’s what that was the night before-- certainly _not_ services for money provided.

And really, he hadn’t planned for it. The moment that Otabek had promised him that fucking him wasn’t his intention, he had believed the man. And really, he had intended on keeping it that way as well. Yuri was a good judge of character, and the art dealer had held his end of the bargain impressively. But then he opened his stupid mouth, saying nice things, and Yuri just _couldn’t_ say no to those dark and intense eyes.

And then his pants had come off, and Yuri had _absolutely_ thrown all caution into the wind, because God above, the man’s dick was perfect. He had literally lasted about three minutes, grinding his own hips against the couch like a horny teenager.

Which _never_ fucking happened, ever.

So no, he didn’t regret it one bit. What he _was_ worried about, was how Otabek would react. Was he the kind to take the walk of shame? Would Yuri pull himself out of bed, only to find a note tucked left on the dining table, telling him to let himself out? Usually he prayed for that. It made shit easier, not having to deal with the fallout of a one-night stand, because lord knew that relationships weren’t exactly on his to-do list.

He didn’t move from the bed immediately, basking in the warmth of the sheets, and the subtle scent left behind by the other man for as long as he could.

Otabek was different. Yuri didn’t know exactly why, but he _just was_ , and that’s how Yuri knew that he was absolutely _fucked._

 

* * *

 

When Otabek woke earlier that morning, he found Yuri’s back pressed against his chest, his own arm tucked around his waist tightly. Hips slotted together gently, nose buried into the back of Yuri's neck, with his hair spread about. The worst part was that he didn’t want to move. Or maybe that was the best part, because Yuri smelled good and fresh, and he could see that his shirt had hiked up during sleep, showing off his long legs--

Otabek pulled himself from the bed as quickly as he could, with barely a grunt from the other man. Yuri slept like the dead, and Otabek was relieved. He left the room and into the main part of his suite with little issue.

After typical morning chores and a call to room service, his cell phone rang and after looking at the screen, he decided to willfully ignore it. He moved to start a pot of coffee, dumping fresh beans into a coffee grinder.

“You know, there’s an easier way to do that,” a voice said from behind him, and Otabek turned to meet the sleepy face of Yuri. He was still dressed in his boxers and t-shirt, having thrown a robe over it all to complete the ensemble. His hair was down, having been pulled from its braid, and he combed his fingers through it idly. It dipped past his shoulders, brushing just above the middle of his back.

Otabek raised his eyebrows slightly, momentarily distracted. Yuri seemed to notice as he leaned against the counter of the small kitchen area, pointing to the coffee. “Wouldn’t be less of a hassle to just buy some already brewed? Lord knows that you could afford it.”

There was a small twist of his lips upwards, as Otabek hit the on button of the grinder, pulsing the beans into a coarse chop. “There are few things that I actually take pleasure in,” he finally said once it was down, pulling the lid off of the grinder. “Coffee is absolutely one of them.”

Yuri watched in silence as he poured the grinds into the french press. Otabek’s phone went off again, and he didn’t bother looking, already knowing who it was. Really, if the man thought that he could just _abandon_ him at work the night before, then he deserved to wait for fucking ever. _Even if_ Seung-Gil had left early to cater to his sister. If there was ever a person who could understand, it was Otabek, because he knew how _insane_ his sister was.

“Seems like a lot of work,” Yuri finally said, as Otabek took the pot of boiling water from the stove, pouring it over the grinds. Once the lid was on, he set a timer for four minutes.

“Work well worth it,” Otabek assured him.

Yuri had been about to retort, when Otabek’s phone went off once more. Both of them turned to look at it, but it was Yuri who said, “Shouldn’t you… you know, get that?”

“It’s too early for work.”

“It’s never too _early_ for anything, even work.”

Otabek raised an eyebrow at that, hearing the unspoken and lighthearted tease. He didn’t know Yuri well, but he seemed the lazy type. “And do you work early?” he teased back.

“I work whenever I can,” Yuri huffed, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle across the front of Otabek’s t-shirt. “In fact, I’m still working right now, taking care of you, and all that shit.”

“All that shit,” Otabek mused. He gently brushed his hand away and reached for his phone. While he had intended on ignoring the call for as long as possible, he knew that he couldn’t _forever_.

“I guess I should get dressed and pack up,” Yuri finally said, pulling himself away from the counter.

“There’s no need for a hurry,” Otabek immediately said, causing the younger man to blink and paused. He wasn't sure what had caused him to say such a thing so suddenly, but... he waved towards the dining table. “I ordered one of everything, since I didn’t know what you’d like… so sit and at least have breakfast.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes slightly, but then his lips quirked into a smile. “That might require a little bit of overtime,” Yuri joked, but Otabek waved the thought away. He poured a quick cup of coffee for the each of them.

Handing one to Yuri, he said, “I’m going to step away and call my boss back, but at least _enjoy_ the food.”

“Oh that won’t be a problem,” Yuri promised. “I can’t tell you the last time that I ate this well. I will it eat _all_.”

Otabek frowned at that, remembering exactly _how_ skinny the man was, despite some deceptive muscle, but said nothing further. Grasping his own mug, he left the kitchen area and into the bedroom, shutting the door gently behind him.

Seung-Gil picked up before the first ring even finished. “ _Otabek_ , _finally. What on earth took so long?”_

“You know, some of us actually like to _enjoy_ our mornings.”

“ _It’s eleven, it’s barely the morning.”_ There was a pause and then, “ _You never sleep in._ ”

Otabek grabbed his bluetooth earpiece, before turning it on and placing it around his ear. The call connected to it, allowing him to get ready as he spoke. “I was under the impression this was my day off,” he finally said, rifling through his clothing that were carefully hung in the closet.

“ _Technically it is.”_

“Technically,” Otabek echoed, his tone dry. In reality, there weren’t actual days off in his line of work-- just days with active operations, and days that he spent on recon.

“ _That doesn’t mean we don’t have things to talk about_.”

“Like how you _left_ me behind last night?”

“ _That’s--_ ”

“Look, if you want to leave early to go _bone_ my sister, then all you have to do is fucking let me know.” Otabek decided to stay informal that particular day, heading for the dresser instead. He pulled out a plain-looking white t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

“ _Otabek!”_

“You’re whipped when it comes to her.”

He heard Seung-Gil let out a hiss of annoyance on the other end of the line. “ _Seriously though, have you seen the hag when she gets angry?_ ”

“I’ve known her since the moment she was conceived, you prick,” he said with little humor. “Trust me, I get it, she's fucking terrifying at times.”

“ _Not the point, which I’m trying to get to. I actually have some notes from the mission last night_.”

Otabek turned back to double check the door, finding it still shut tight. While he didn't think Yuri much of a security risk as a whole, he couldn't jeopardize their mission. At least more than he already had-- in retrospect, bringing a hooker back to his hotel hadn't been very smart. “I would barely call last night a mission,” he said quietly, pulling on a pair of dark wash jeans. “Especially with you--”

“ _Enough of that!”_ Seung-Gil snapped, and Otabek smirked. He considered it his life mission to ruffle the man’s feathers. “ _I haven’t received your report yet_.”

Oh right, that. Otabek should have done it the night before, but he had been thoroughly distracted by long, slender fingers, hair the color of spun gold, and-- he turned red at the thought, trying to not think about it.

“I fell asleep,” he finally said, hoping that it sounded convincing. Seung-Gil bought it, thank fucking God.

“ _It’s not that big of a deal, I just need it by today. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t really find out much.”_

“Same,” Otabek admitted. He’d moved to the bathroom and washed his face quickly, before drying it off. “But the crowd last night wasn’t particularly chatty.”

“ _Maybe not with you,”_ Seung-Gil said coolly, “ _But then again, you looked about as inviting as a cornered snake. Really, you need to learn to relax. You’re too stiff and you scare people away._ ”

“You and I both know that field work is my expertise, not recon.”

“ _You’re a fucking spy, it should be.”_

Actually, he was a special forces agent-turned-spy, but who was keeping track? Otabek had just finished running pomade through his hair, when he washed his hands and said, “Get to the point Boss.”

“ _Point is, you’ll never be useful if you don’t at least talk. And as long as you look like you’ve swallowed bad fish when working in public, you’re useless.”_

Otabek frowned at that, but he knew that it was true. He wasn’t the kind of man to enjoy the general public. As an agent, he preferred assignments that dealt with extraction-- going in with guns blazing and pulling people out. No fuss, no talking, just get in, kill a bunch of bad guys, and then get out.  
This entire _smoozing_ and _boozing_ definitely wasn’t his strong suit. If it wasn’t for the thief _Eros_ , he’d still be back home in Kazakhstan, blowing shit up.

Seung-Gil’s voice caught his attention again. “ _Bring a date, or something. A pretty girl on your arm should loosen you up, and make you look more approachable. And then maybe people would be more forthcoming about information._ ”

“Bring a date--” Otabek started, but then groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Are you fucking serious? Do I seem the _bring a date_ type?”

It was a long moment before his boss answered. “ _No, not really, but at this point I’m desperate.”_

“Seung-Gil, that’s absolutely not necessary--”

“ _Then consider it an order,”_ his boss replied, and Otabek could practically _hear_ his tone dripping in mirth. No doubt Maya would find this fucking hilarious, and no doubt that her lap-dog of a husband would absolutely tell her. “ _Tomorrow night there is a new exhibit opening at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. We’re expected to be there.”_

Otabek’s mood soured considerably. “That doesn’t sound like our typical stake out.”

“ _It is when they’re unveiling a piece of Eros' artwork. Considering his last heist, it would make sense he might make an appearance.”_ Right, since he was apparently into stealing his own fucking shit these days.

If it were any other thief, Otabek might consider it doubtful, but this was _Eros_ they were talking about. The man was known for flaunting his talents and hanging them out for everyone to see. He was _absolutely_ the type to configure a plan and steal something during a massive party.

“And where do you expect me to find a date?”

“ _At this point, I don’t really care Altin. Just figure it out. You can’t always look like a brooding villain from a Bond movie. And that’s not from me, that’s from higher up.”_

Otabek sighed, pinching his nose. “Don’t ever compare me to a Bond villain, ever again.”

“ _I didn’t, your sister did.”_ He heard shuffling around on the other end of the line, and figured that Seung-Gil was in the office. “ _Now that that’s all settled, I’ve been told to remind you about next Sunday--”_

“Yeah, yeah, dinner, I know.”

Seung-Gil harrumphed at being brushed off but said, “ _He don’t get grumpy with me. Just remember, if you don’t show up, it’s your head.”_

“Good bye, Boss,” Otabek snapped, hanging up immediately.

He sighed again, taking one last glance in the mirror. He looked decent enough, despite his boring attire, his hair slicked back and clean. He grunted in annoyance though, as he turned off the bathroom light and left the bedroom.

When he found his way back into the main area of the penthouse, he was greeted by the image of Yuri lounging back in a chair, his long legs stretched out and resting on another. He held a plate in his lap, eating heartily, as he watched some cartoon on the television.

He looked at ease, enjoying the moment, so different then the contemplative and rigid business man from the night before. When Yuri heard him enter the room, he glanced looked back at Otabek, a lazy smile crossing his face.

And then suddenly, Otabek had an idea.

 

* * *

 

Yuri wasn’t prepared for what Otabek might have looked like dressed in casual wear, but _smoking hot_ absolutely wasn’t it. All he wore was a white T-shirt and jeans, but he was barely able to catch himself from staring too long, forcing a smile onto his face. The look suited the man and the serious way that he held himself.

This was bad, _this was very, very bad_. Mila had warned him about shit like this, about getting attached to clients, because no matter how nice they were, or how handsome and good-looking, it never lasted. They only hired him for a good fuck, and that was that.

Otabek crossed the room, taking a seat and filling a plate for himself.

“That must be some boss,” Yuri finally said, shoving another bite of pancake into his mouth.

“I’m sorry?”

“You ignored his call _several_ times.”

“Honestly, he’s just more annoying, than anything,” Otabek said. Yuri could tell that there was more to it than that, but Otabek didn't elaborate.

“How annoying could an art dealer be?”

At that, Otabek blinked in confusion, but the look was gone almost as soon as it had come. Yuri narrowed his eyes slightly, but figured that Otabek had forgotten that he told him about his work. Otabek had probably forgotten about a _lot_ of things, after last night, and Yuri couldn’t help but feel smug about that.

“Plenty,” Otabek said, spreading butter across a very boring piece of toast. Yuri supposed that with his body type, he must have at least watched what he ate. “He complains about my work ethic a lot.”

“A lack thereof?” Yuri asked.

“Apparently, I’m _not approachable_ ,” Otabek replied, his expression sour. “I’m not really a people person.”

“But you sell art,” Yuri said.

“You can sell things without having to deal with clients personally.”

Yuri hummed at that. “I can’t say that I understand. My job is particularly _hands on_ , you know.”

Otabek raised his eyebrows at that, and then said, “You seem to be the friendly sort though.”

Yuri smirked. If only he fucking knew. “I’m really not, but I’ve learned to adapt. I’m great at _acting_ like I like people, but the truth is that I fucking hate them.” He knew that it wasn’t what Otabek was expecting him to say, so Yuri lived for the look of surprise that fell across the older man’s face. And then Yuri realized how shitty that sounded, and continued with, “Except you. I actually enjoyed your company. It’s amazing what being treated like a fucking human being can do to a person.”

Otabek hummed at that, taking a sip of his coffee. “Speaking of company,” he said, “I have a proposition for you.”

Yuri halted-- here it was, that thing that Mila had warned him off. Whatever kinky shit that Otabek was really into was about to come out. Maybe his blushing, shy personality was really an act and--

“I would like to hire you indefinitely.”

“I… er-- _what_?”

But Otabek but kept on, as if he were asking something completely _normal_. “What would you charge by the week?”

“Jesus, Otabek, was I _that_ good?”

At that, Otabek turned bright red, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Okay, so his shyness was definitely not an act, and honestly, it was kind of endearing. “No that’s--- _that’s not what I meant_. I’m not hiring you for that.”

Yuri leaned back in his chair again. “Then what on earth do you want to hire me for?”

“Like I said, my boss said I need to be more personable with our clients. He’s demanded that I bring a _date_ to functions, and you know, I’m not the kind of guy that just--”

“Picks up someone off of the street,” Yuri finished.

“ _Exactly_.” Otabek paused when the irony of the statement hit him, rubbing at his neck in discomfort. “What I mean to say is, you’re a professional--” Yuri snorted at that-- “and you know how to handle people. I don’t. Mingling isn’t my thing, but _you’ve_ learned how to handle all sorts. With you as my date, I might be able to at least fake it.”

“And for how long?”

“As long as I’m in town for, which… well, I don’t know exactly. Until all of our business is conducted.”

Yuri thought that was an awfully vague answer, but let it slide. “It’ll cost you,” he finally said, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Money isn’t an issue,” Otabek promised. “Name your price.”

Of course it wasn't an issue-- Yuri wasn’t likely to forget how he had just whipped out hundred dollar bills _like it was fucking nothing_. He thought about it for a moment and then said, “Eight thousand.”

Otabek narrowed his eyes and countered with, “Six.”

“Make it seven thousand, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Seven thousand a week, for you to be at my beck and call?”

“That a problem, old man?”

“No, it’s a deal.”

Yuri wore the cool mask of indifference, but on the inside he was practically freaking out. It took him _months_ to make seven thousand dollars, even turning tricks. It couldn’t be as simple as just _being a date_ , it couldn’t be. He looked back to Otabek, who had pulled out the fucking newspaper to read, looking incredibly comfortable.

 _Like he hadn’t just agreed to paying an obscene amount to keep him around_.

Yuri wondered if this was a mistake. He immediately got over it when he realized the use that he could put the money to. He placed his finished plate back down on the table and sat up straight.

“You know, I would have done it for six thousand,” he said with a smirk.

Otabek pulled back the paper the slightest bit, a genuine smile crossing his lips, and God above if Yuri’s heart didn’t skip right then and there. “I would have paid eight,” Otabek said coolly, before fluffing the paper slightly and turning back to it.

Yuri couldn’t even be angry, he was amused, and it had been a long time since he was genuinely excited by something. For the time being at least, he wouldn’t have to deal with handsy clients and uncomfortable romps in the back alley.

He just hoped that Mila wouldn’t fucking kill him.

  
  
  


 


End file.
